Chapter Forty-Three
KAEL
The streets still crawl with royal guards—or at least that’s what Amarisse says.
I wouldn’t know. The only thing I’m privy to is the way Elyssara’s lips part when she sleeps, or the sigh she makes when she comes, or the way she presses her ass into me when I drag her close.
She’s filled every breath, every thought, every ragged heartbeat I’ve had since the door closed.
The moon surrendered to the sun, and now the sun sinks again, taking its light with it. Meals have come and gone, baths filled and drained. I don’t remember any of it. I only remember her.
We’ve needed this—the pause, the quiet, the stretch of hours where the world beyond this chamber doesn’t exist. Where there is only us.
A sharp rap at the door shatters the spell.
“Up and at ‘em, lovebirds,” Ronyn drawls from the other side, his voice all mischief and smug amusement. “Amarisse says it’s safe to move. Gellesk wants to see us before we head off—though old Mavyrn still hasn’t appeared in a puff of smoke or plume of sparkles or whatever yet.”
Fucking Mavyrn. She’s wily, unpredictable and secretive, but I have to believe the old bat has her reasons for disappearing. But that’s a problem for later. For soon.
Before I can bark at Ronyn to fuck off, another voice rumbles low, cutting through the air. Therion.
“First,” he says, dry as sand and twice as rough, “I need a fucking drink. If I’m going to face more beasts and creatures across this godsdamned continent or the next, the least we can do is have a strong, stiff drink first.”
Did he just choose liquor over logistics?
Silence follows—then laughter, sharp and startled, and I find myself grinning despite the desire to stay here and forget the world.
The prophecy. The thrones. The war. But Therion, the no-fuss, steady-as-stone soldier, asking for a drink instead of meeting with the rebellion?
That’s how I know we’re all cracked, fraying at the edges.
And maybe a tavern is exactly what we need before the road swallows us again.
But it’s Ronyn’s voice that pierces through the keyhole. “Come on out, El. No need to be embarrassed. We’re in a whorehouse—the sounds from your room blended right in. Promise,” he teases, his tone thick with amusement.
A smirk breaks free on Elyssara’s face, and her cheeks blaze red as she buries her head in her hands. But she laughs. Freely. And the sound might be my undoing. Because I’d raze kingdoms. Tear down monster and man. Rip the Stars from the sky if it meant hearing it for the rest of my days.
“Fuck off, Ronyn. How about directing your ire at Seren and Therion?” she finally retorts. She pauses for dramatic effect, before adding, “The walls really are quite thin, you know?”
Therion grunts something indiscernible, and I can’t bite down my laughter any longer.
A shocked gasp, quickly cut off by hands clapping over a mouth, pierce the air, and I have no doubt it’s Seren—her mortification palpable even through the locked door.
Ronyn’s unabashed laugh cuts through the tension. “You’ve got to admit; that was a good one,” he rasps through ragged breaths.
Therion lets out an audible huff of exhaustion. “Stars fuckin’ save me. We’re all getting too close,” he grumbles, but I can hear the fondness in his voice.
Since Maldrak took the throne and his family, Therion hasn’t let anyone in. No one new, at least. He tolerates Jax. Even Merrik. But letting in Seren, Ronyn, Elyssara? It’s a risk. And he knows it.
“We’re only just getting started, brother,” Ronyn says, and a loud clap on the back travels through the cracks in the door. Or through the thin walls.
“Tess is waiting. So is that drink,” Therion grunts, and I hear his boots retreat down the halls.
Elyssara and I dress quickly. Fresh leathers and boots courtesy of Amarisse’s network.
She steals glances in my direction as I lace my leathers at my waist, and I can’t ignore the way she swallows thickly, or the subtle pink that blooms in her cheeks as her eyes rake over me.
“Getting your fill, El?” I tease, a smirk lifting the corner of my mouth.
She scoffs, but I can tell I’ve landed my mark. “You’re just so…” she trails off.
“Symmetrical?” I supply, amusement thick on my tongue.
She looks at me with obvious disdain. “I’ll never be allowed to forget that, will I?”
“Darling, I will remind you as often as possible. That moment will remain etched into my mind until the Stars themselves take me back—it was the first time I believed I actually had a chance with you,” I answer sincerely, and she looks taken aback with my candor.
“Oh,” she breathes, eyes still taking me in. “I was going to say beautiful.”
She runs her hand down my bare torso, gently tracing every muscle like each fiber is sacred. I suck in a sharp inhale, skin erupting in gooseflesh under her touch.
I cup her cheek in my palm, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “There is no word for what you are, Elyssara. You defy language,” I murmur into the auburn hair that stole my heart.
“I don’t want to leave this chamber,” she admits, voice heavy with the truth.
Our tether hums warm at the confession.
“I know,” I press the words into her forehead, kissing her tenderly. “I wish the world would still for us to have more time like this.”
“But instead, it may be the end of it altogether.” Her emerald-green eyes pin me in place, so loaded with emotion and meaning. “It’s time to take our thrones back,” she says.
Neither of us speaks about what that means for us—rulers of different kingdoms, Starbound but forced to be apart.
No, instead we fall into silent embrace, her face pressing into my chest as my hands rub against the scars on her back. The scars she did not earn. Scars that will be paid for in blood.
“Then let’s activate this rebellion and get to Nymeris,” I answer with pragmatism, though all I want is to lock the world out and keep her here.
She nods, breaking our embrace, and returning to dressing—binding her breasts, sliding into leathers that hug her warrior’s build, strapping daggers and blades at her waist and thighs, and holy fucking gods, the sight of her almost buckles my knees.
With god metal swords strapped at my back, I head for the door. My hand grips the doorknob, and I hold out my other hand for her to take it—a silent invitation that says a thousand words. Words that neither of us wish to say aloud.
It’s time to go to war.
It’s time to leave this behind.
It’s time to be the leaders we’re destined to be.
She walks toward me, hair pulled back in a simple tail, shoulders squared and chest proud. My regal, defiant queen.
And she grips my hand in silent agreement to leave it all behind and step into our destiny.
She nods, blowing out the candle at the door, and casting the room into darkness.
“Let’s start an uprising,” she says, and I open the door to fate.